


Starting From Square One

by Soluscoiotes



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Ill add tags as I remember too do such or add chapters, M/M, Oof if you like Chloe this isnt the fic for you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 13:04:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12705570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soluscoiotes/pseuds/Soluscoiotes
Summary: Rich was admitted to the Beth Israel Hospital after Jakes house went up in flames. However he wasn't quite ready to be put in the drivers seat of his own life again let alone the onslaught of classmates that now hated him.





	Starting From Square One

**Author's Note:**

> Oof this is gonna be a long fic to write

Rich laid still in a mostly white room. A room that had an almost nauseating smell akin to plastic and disinfectants. He was heavily bandaged and couldn't even move if he wanted to. 

He wished he was dead, but oh no he wasn't given that luxury. His squip wouldn't allow that.

Despite Rich's hopes, the figure of an evil Kermit The Frog was always somewhere in the room, be it is the farthest corner that strained his eyes to make out first thing when he woke up under the intense hospital lights. Or right by his bedside, making Rich desperately want to scream for his mom like a child that woke up in the middle of the night to see a dark humanoid figure and immediately assumed it was a monster that had shown up to eat them.

It was already quite fitting. Monsters prey on the weak and the defenseless; something Rich fit the definition of all too well. 

A younger Rich would’ve laughed at such a sight. A cloaked Kermit The Frog waiting at his bedside like a demon ready to lead him to hell. Only a shadow over its face to cover its eyes. Eyes that were assumedly either the fiery gates to hell themselves, there to suck in his soul, or dark soulless voids that held nothing, but the tortured and silent screams of the people that died of similar causes; in which currently left Rich in the hospital now.

Now it made Rich nauseous, some nights waking up with sweat that rolled down his cheek and to his neck, stinging the burns it dripped onto; occasionally managing to soak into the gauze and bandages on his shoulders. On the other side of the room, the squip would become pure nightmare fuel that constantly took different forms each night for reasons Rich could only assume was to further rub in his helplessness. The more common ones being with its back turned and twitching, making sickening crunching noises as if eating something that left Rich cringing over each moment the sound repeated, and that occasionally made a whimper or pained squeal as if it was eating something actually alive. 

The other most common one being it facing him with a gaping mouth of bloody teeth as a faint gurgling noise could be heard before it would vomit a mess of bloody maggots and rotting teeth onto the floor. The sickening smell would then manage to fill the room for hours, making Rich struggle to breathe as each breath put him right on the verge of vomiting on himself and potentially getting his burns infected. This left him screwing his eyes shut; waiting for it to finally go back to staring ominously from one of the two typical places in the room and for the smell to dissipate to tell him such had happened.

The more fearful thing however was the silence on his squip’s part, leaving dread to pool in his chest and build by the hour.

Rich wasn't used to the mental silence he was now having to endure. His squip almost never stopped talking to him prior; constantly giving directions and feedback and when it did, it was to provide Rich with spinal stimulation that he was currently left anticipating from past experience. This left him feeling hyper sensitive and on edge. Waiting for a tell tale hum to suggest he needed to brace himself for the pain or even a split second tingling sensation, before his muscles locked up for a minute that would diminish into an aching feeling similar to being sore after push up days in PE where the slightest movements became painful.

Instead Rich was practically left in a state of disorientation after two years where for once he wasn't receiving any immediate typical punishment for something. No stimulation of any kind. No forced deprivation of basic needs such as food or water. No cruel words paired with a furious tone meant to bring Rich to tears only to berate him for crying. Nothing to echo in his head except for things it had said before the fire.

Currently Rich was fairly unsure how many days he was in the hospital. While he knew he had been unconscious for two days, Rich had both not kept track and admittedly didn't try to keep track in the first place. Without the squip Rich had horrible focus, which quickly led to him forgetting said task after the third or fourth day upon waking up and being unable to recall which it was. That being said, the fire was the one thing that Rich’s thoughts would constantly seem to circle back while he attempted to recall what day it may actually be; as if permeating his dreams every night wasn't enough.

_**“ This is really such a shame Rich.” The voice had spoken.** _

_Rich could feel the smooth material of the box of matches that found its way into his hand. It was cool to the touch and somewhat filthy which told Rich it obviously hadn't be used for quite some time. Perhaps for a birthday cakes’ candle or for a surprise power outage that never happened._

_**“You’d made an immense amount of progress. Far quicker than any other users so far.”** _

_The matches were then stuffed into his pocket._

_Ever so slowly, Rich left the kitchen, pausing as a kid stumbled by with a cup filled to the brim with a concoction Rich wasn't sure he wanted to know the contents of. As they walked, by one particular step appeared as more of a lurch as someone had shouted out something unintelligible._

_As they froze in place for a split second, their drink sloshed and spilled on Rich's shoes._

_**“And to think after two years of work,” It paused.** _

_Rich’s legs began to carry him upstairs to the upper floor of Jake's house._

_As he had finally arrived upstairs he went down the hallway past the second living room and straight to one of the spare rooms. The room had blue grey walls with a white ceiling. Rich recalled spending several nights in this room for various reasons. From bad and unwanted hangovers, to nights he wasn't up to going back home._

_The matches that sat in Rich’s pocket practically burning just sitting there as he reached in to pull it out. The box was slightly warm now._

_Rich had slowly opened the matchbox and pulled out one match from the box. Something so small had the potential to cause utter destruction if used correctly. A couple sticks of potassium chlorate, powdered glass, and animal glue could destroy Jake's entire childhood._

_And it would._

_Rich closed the small box before holding it on its side. He held the match head up to the igniter and added a slight amount of pressure. Too much would break it. He remembered sophomore year of chemistry seeing a trick the teacher did of putting a candle in a dish of water them lighting it and putting a cup over it. Seeing the water be drawn into glass made him excitedly go home to show his dad, only to snap several matches just attempting to light the candle, and his dad upset over him going through so many matches for some shitty science demonstration._

_Rich took a full week to stop feeling guilty over it._

_Now he swiftly dragged the match head along the igniter and watched it ignite. The flame looked soft as the match head had turned black. He could feel the slight warmth that came off it._

_**“ It has to be thrown away.” His squip appeared to lament.** _

_Rich abruptly dropped the match onto the floor before going to the nightstand and opening the very bottom drawer. Considering Rich had made this room into a second home, Jake seldom went into it unless invited. He insisted Rich needed some privacy which Rich had prior seen as courteous._

_Rich rummaged through his drawer before pulling out a small flask. Something he had originally got off Jake._

_As Rich’s hands closed around the object, he shivered, noting how cold it felt. The liquid still splashed around inside while Rich got up and headed back to the small flame now growing on the carpet._

_In a swift motion, Rich unscrewed the cap and poured the drink onto the flame watching it immediately begin to get bigger to the point a step had to be taken back at to ensure the flames didn't reach his feet._

_He lit a couple more matches and spread them along the room. In the closet of jackets Rich had worn over time and ones Jake handed off him because he no longer wanted them. Underneath the bed Rich had spent a couple months adjusting to not having to hide under. Right by the window Rich spent nights looking out of. Sometimes coaxing Jake into his room to look too despite Jake's insistence against it._

_He still had a thirty seven matches left. Three matches were already burning and the one on the floor was still growing._

_Another was left under the bed._

_Thirty six._

_Suddenly he headed out the door, closing it slowly before leaving another match there too. A bunch of drunk teenagers wouldn't pay too much attention to someone leaving a room by themselves unless somebody else had followed looking disheveled._

_Rich headed down the steps almost slipping on the beer that was splashed onto the steps if it weren't for him holding onto the railing._

_**“This can all be fixed. We can fix all of this.” His squip insisted. Its voice was dull and quiet.** _

_This made Rich feel sick as he was brought back into reality. His hands felt cold, yet at the same time his skin felt as if heat was radiating off it, like he’d broke into a sort of cold sweat despite being in a house that was warm from the amount of people that were currently there. He almost felt like it was getting hard to breathe._

_This was gonna be hell._

_He slowly walked down the stairs and to the living room where plenty drunk teenagers were stumbling around and some speaking incoherently as the wobbled past him._

_Rich was weary as they swayed away from him._

_**“ Something the matter?” It asked. There was a faint buzz in the background like white noise.** _

_Rich kept moving until he’d made his way to the kitchen. The floor had alcohol splattered everywhere. Cups were abandoned as all the drinks were left during a particular song everyone decided to dance to._

_Slowly Rich had reached into his pocket._

_His fingers wrapped around the match box._

_He pulled it out slowly._

_He slowly opened the matchbox, he could feel the surface slightly warm from prior use._

_He slowly picked a match out and lit it_

_Rich then tossed the match onto the counter and knocked over the drinks._

_He watched the flame travel high and along the counter quickly and spilling onto the floor with the flame traveling with it looking almost like animals tearing eachother apart, not caring what they hit, just as long as it made contact with something._

_He threw another match in the sink, in the pile of trash-_

Rich tried to pause his mind and urge it not to go back to such thoughts so it didn't go any farther and make him feel any more trapped. The whole full body cast made him unable to move already. He felt small and vulnerable in hospitals as is from the few times being in there prior.

When he first woke up in the hospital he recalled panicking. 

The lights were blinding and he still smelled a faint smell of burned flesh that made him gag. Where was he? Was he dead? Was everyone else okay? He could hear a light hum from a vent in between breathes. From there he had to slow his own breathing down to confirm the vent wasn't imagined. It took several minutes after that for his eyes to adjust. 

His hospital room was empty and there was his squip sitting in the corner staring at him. 

_‘Nothing? No degrading statements for me to repeat?’_ Rich had thought.

The squip sat unresponsive.

_‘not even a shock?’_

Still nothing from the squip, which Rich had found odd. No repercussions for the way he’d behaved? Or perhaps the burns that now covered him were deemed punishment enough. So now Rich could walk around with a permanent reminder of what happens if you don't follow what you're told to do.

Just thinking about getting shocked in prior experience was all his squip needed to shock him. Whether it was intentional or not it eventually morphed in convincing Rich not to think about it only for the insufferable computer to shock him when he was no longer expecting it just to make it all the more painful. Sometimes Rich wasn't sure what he had done wrong to think about it.

He also couldn't move well, which upon seeing the state he was in may have been for the best looking back.

After these events and now having his phone god knows where, Rich didn't think he could feel any lonelier.

And he was wrong.

Suddenly, Rich’s stomach growled. 

He was hungry. Which meant it was around time to eat again.

Rich could feel excitement bubble in his chest and almost fill his entire body with new found energy that made him wish he could get up to jump around with joy. He constantly awaited getting to eat almost as much as he looked forward to getting to take a real shower.

He was able to see people! Albeit not on preferred terms, but still! Rich could feel like he wasn't despised by someone he was seeing!

Almost as if on cue a nurse and nurse's assistant had come in the room with a familiar food tray. The same meal of a turkey sandwich, a banana, a small bowl of white rice, and salad that by now made Rich’s stomach churn at the sight of, but that didn't matter as now he was internally beaming at getting to see other people. People that didn't know Rich was a bully at school and could make him feel ashamed off. People that wouldn't make Rich feel ashamed over choices he didn't have much of a say in. 

People whose jobs were essentially to understand that you are hurt and in need of help in which they would provide him with, out of kindness on their own accord.

It didn't matter that Rich wasn’t from a wealthy family, that he hadn't seen his aforementioned family in months, or even that Rich had currently said next to nothing to them in conversations they tried to hold.

All that seemed to matter was Rich stood a chance of living which gave them enough reason to try to save his life regardless of if he wanted it or not.

Like he still had worth despite the things that were done that night.


End file.
